


it's bloody hell, my dear, and no mistake

by HannahPelham



Series: Lizzy and Colonel Fitzwilliam and/or Duke of Wellington [2]
Category: Pride and Prejudice & Related Fandoms, Pride and Prejudice - Jane Austen
Genre: 1.5k of nonsense, F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-03
Updated: 2019-10-03
Packaged: 2020-11-22 18:10:59
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,518
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20878517
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/HannahPelham/pseuds/HannahPelham
Summary: 2016. A year after the Battle of Waterloo in which she lost her soulmate Colonel Fitzwilliam, Elizabeth Bennet Fitzwilliam attends a memorial at Hougoumont, and finds herself in the company of Arthur Wellesley, Duke of Wellington. Things take a turn Elizabeth doesn't expect.





	it's bloody hell, my dear, and no mistake

**Author's Note:**

  * For [AMarguerite](https://archiveofourown.org/users/AMarguerite/gifts).
  * Inspired by [A Dalliance with the Duke](https://archiveofourown.org/works/9848762) by [AMarguerite](https://archiveofourown.org/users/AMarguerite/pseuds/AMarguerite). 

Elizabeth Bennet Fitzwilliam buttoned up the red broadcloth coat she’d had made from her late husband’s old uniforms and put on a pair of equally bright shoes. It was the first anniversary of the battle in which her husband and soulmate, Colonel Richard Fitzwilliam, had died. He’d always said to her that, should he die, she should wear something bright to the memorial so he could see her from ‘up there’. When he had, in fact, died, at the Battle of Waterloo on 18th June 2015, Elizabeth had had his old dress uniforms turned into clothes for her, so she could carry a little bit of her soulmate with her for years after his death. The memorial was taking place at the farmhouse of Hougoumont, the very place where her husband had fallen in the service of his country. She took her seat, only a row or two behind the British and Prussian commanders. Her husband had been close to the Duke of Wellington, the Commander-in-Chief for the battle. The reason Colonel Fitzwilliam had been in charge of the defence of Hougoumont was because the Duke trusted him so implicitly to succeed. The way the Duke saw it, though Colonel Fitzwilliam’s death was indeed a tragedy, it was not in vain. 

Elizabeth sat there and stared forward, unable to think about anything other than the violent death her husband encountered in the very courtyard she was now sat in, listening to a military official talk about just how important the battle and the holding of Hougoumont were to the defeat of the French dictator Napoleon Bonaparte. Every now and then, she noticed the Duke of Wellington turn around and smile weakly at her, as if to see if she was okay. It took a while before she realised that Richard must have said something to him in the years he served as his subaltern. He must have asked the Duke of Wellington - the Duke of bloody Wellington - to keep an eye on her should the worst have happened. As the worst had, indeed, happened, the Duke..Arthur, as he had told Elizabeth to call him, was keeping an eye on her. 

The memorial service ended, and Elizabeth soon found herself being handed a glass of something stiff by one of the other widows of the Battle, but she was on her own. She wandered around, trying to find the spot described to her as the location of her husband’s death. She downed the whisky in her glass and set off on a mission. She found it quickly, and before she knew it, she was on her knees, in floods of tears. She stayed there for a while, crying and taking in the peace and quiet that must have seemed a million miles away just a year before. Seeing where he died really made Richard’s death real for her, and she found herself feeling a whole new wave of grief. Eventually, once the noise from the memorial had seemed to die down, Elizabeth felt the presence of someone stood behind her. She turned around to see the Duke of Wellington stood there, smiling sadly. She wiped her eyes with her hands, accepting his outstretched hand to help her up. She stood next to him, both staring at the spot.

“It’s bloody hell, my dear, and no mistake” He said after a minute or two, offering her a handkerchief to dry her tears. She took it, smearing it with eyeliner and mascara as she dried her cheeks. She pocketed it. 

“I’ll wash it and get it back to you somehow” She said. The Duke chuckled. 

“No rush, Mrs Fitzwilliam, I have others. How has the past year been?” He asked, turning slightly to look at her properly. She started to well up, and the Duke put a comforting arm around the young woman’s shoulder. She was far too young to be a widow, even a war widow. She wasn’t yet 30 and she was on her own. Had he died, his wife would have been quite set up for life. His wife. He decided to focus on Mrs Fitzwilliam rather than the definitely dead, pining for the fjords, pushing up the daisies status of his marriage to the Duchess, Kitty. 

“It’s been bloody hell, Your Grace, and no mistake” Elizabeth replied, looking up at him. 

“Where’s Your Grace come from?” He said quickly, trying to lighten the mood slightly, “I’ve always told you to call me Arthur, or at the very least General Wellesley”

“Well then, it’s been bloody hell, Arthur, and no mistake” Elizabeth corrected, smirking at the Duke’s fake outrage. 

“That’s better Mrs Fitz” Arthur replied, and the pair fell into sad, contented silence once again. 

Elizabeth thought nothing more of her encounter with The Duke of Wellington until, when back in England and staying at Longbourn with her family, she received an invitation to go for lunch with him at his Hyde Park Corner mansion Apsley House. 

“You must go, Lizzy! A Duke!” cried Mrs Bennet as Elizabeth read (parts of) the letter out over the breakfast table. 

“Lizzy mustn’t do anything or go anywhere, my dear, she is only just back from the battlefield” Her father replied, doing his best to calm his wife’s excitement. 

“He was so kind to you in Belgium, Lizzy, it would be polite, and she seems like a nice man” her eldest sister Jane tried to reason as she calmed her little daughter Charlotte, who was crying in her arms. 

“And Apsley House, Lizzy! Think of the finery!” Mrs Bennet cried once again from her position at one end of the table. Mr Bennet rolled his eyes and indulged his wife’s excitement. 

Elizabeth arrived at Apsley House very nervous. What did one say to a Duke in a social setting? Was it just her invited or were there going to be other people there? Was his wife going to be there? Elizabeth had never met the Duchess before, but as soon as she arrived at Apsley, it seemed clear she never would. The Duke led her up a huge staircase and to a small private dining room, with a table set for two. The whole house looked like it had been turned upside down and shaken. 

“I’m sorry about the mess, Mrs Fitzwilliam...my wife is moving out” The Duke said as he pulled out the chair for her. She sat down delicately as he tucked the chair in. 

“Really, Your Gra- Arthur, you should be calling me Elizabeth by now” She said as he took his seat opposite her. 

“Well done on correcting yourself, my dear, Your Grace is very formal and not particularly personal” He replied, thanking his lucky stars Elizabeth hadn’t pressed on the moving out of his wife, though he reasoned he would soon have to broach the subject. Better get it over and done with, he thought. 

“I’m getting divorced, Elizabeth” He somewhat announced as they each served themselves from the dishes on the table. Elizabeth nearly dropped her fork. 

“Divorced?” She replied, very shocked indeed. She knew the Duke and Duchess had a...tempestuous relationship, but she never thought they were the types to get divorced, especially with two young sons (who were nowhere to be seen).

“She says she’s met this bloke, a Mr Jackson or something, and has fallen in love with him so she asked for a divorce and I said yes, because I don’t particularly love her anymore” Arthur said, rather matter of factly. It sounded to Elizabeth that he’d made his peace with it. 

“Well if that’s the case then it must be the right thing, mustn’t it?” she replied, trying to sound like she wasn’t wondering why on earth he was telling her all of this. They were friendly, yes, but she wasn’t sure she could consider Field Marshal His Grace Arthur Wellesley, Duke of Wellington, a friend. 

They chatted about everything and nothing over lunch, revealing everything they felt and absolutely nothing at the same time. After a few hours of conversation, Elizabeth was no clearer on her place in the Duke’s acquaintance, or why he’d told her all about his divorce. As they sat on the sofa, a cup of tea in Elizabeth’s hands, did it all start to make sense. As Arthur handed her her tea, their fingers brushed, and Elizabeth wondered if the Duke felt the same bolt of electricity she did. She found herself trying to be coy, trying to look pretty. She stopped herself as soon as she realised. Richard had only been dead for a year, for god’s sake, but when Arthur looked at her like that, all of her cares melted away, and the only thing she wanted was for him to lean in and kiss her. 

When Elizabeth’s wish for the Duke to kiss her came true, a few seconds later, she realised that it wasn’t how long after your soulmate had died that mattered, it was how you felt, and Elizabeth felt like she wanted to be kissed by the Duke of Wellington for the rest of her days. 


End file.
